


Puck Stops Here, The Part 3

by theboymichaelshanks_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-02
Updated: 2003-06-02
Packaged: 2019-03-16 13:25:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13637148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboymichaelshanks_archivist/pseuds/theboymichaelshanks_archivist
Summary: Jack gets a shock and Daniel follows his dream.





	Puck Stops Here, The Part 3

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Boy / Michael Shanks](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Boy_Fanfiction_Archive), wand was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Boy / Michael Shanks collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/theboymichaelshanks/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Thanks to Catspaw, the best beta ever.

  
Author's notes: Thanks to Catspaw, the best beta ever.  


* * *

Puck Stops Here, The Part 3

### Puck Stops Here, The Part 3

#### by Wadjet

Date Archived: 06/02/03  
Website:   
Status: In-Progress  
Category: Alternate Universe  
Characters/Pairings:   Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson   Other Pairing   Daniel Jackson/Brad Nelson       
Rating: R  
Spoilers: None  
Permission to archive: Area 52  
Series: Puck Stops Here, The  
Notes: Thanks to Catspaw, the best beta ever.  
Warnings: None  
Disclaimer: All mine except Jack and Danny and I'd really like to say that they were.  
Summary: Jack gets a shock and Daniel follows his dream.

* * *

Jack moved in and out of consciousness as the ambulance raced through the city streets to the university. He was disoriented and despite the injection the doctor had given him, he was still in a great deal of pain. What the hell had hit him? A truck? No, it couldn't have been a truck; he'd been on the ice. He still had his uniform on. The Cup, that was it, he was playing in the Stanley Cup. Didn't he score? Yes, he seemed to remember the crowd going crazy and that guy... that cute guy in the crowd. 

"He's nice," Jack mumbled. 

"Hey Jack, how're you doing?" the doctor asked. 

Jack smiled, groggily. "'m fine. What am I... ah! Fuck that hurts! What happened to my leg?" 

The doctor patted him on the shoulder. "You got a bad break there. We'll have to operate, get the bones back into line again. I need to take some details from you; name address, that kinda stuff. D'you know what your blood group is?" 

"Ah... crap.... B. I think. Head's fuzzy. Can't think straight." 

The doctor nodded. "You got a mild concussion too. That Pankowski hit you like a freight train. Sonovabitch. Should be banned." 

"Pankowski? Fuck!" he tried to get up, but was gently restrained by a hand on his chest. "What's this thing on my neck?" 

"Easy, now. We put a collar on you, just in case of any neck or spinal injury. I don't think there is, but we should get you X-rayed to be sure. I've given you some morphine for the pain; it should start kicking in soon. Just relax. We'll get you fixed up." He smiled, "That was a helluva goal, Jack. Nice job." 

Jack smiled back, weakly. "Thanks. See if the pretty boys can't keep it goin'" 

* 

Daniel couldn't concentrate. He kept checking his watch, trying to gauge how long it would take the ambulance to get to the medical centre, wondering how Jack was doing and wishing he was with him. His hands drummed nervously on his thighs, and he had to wipe the sweat off them on his pants leg every few seconds. He was worried sick, but Brad was just becoming more and more pissed off. 

"Daniel, what is it with you? It's a damned shame, but your man will be fine. His leg's broke, they'll operate. I guess he won't play again, but... dammit he's nothing to you! You don't even know the guy. What the hell is all this about?" Brad's eyes narrowed. "Unless... unless you're bullshitting me about just how well you know him?" 

"NO! No, I'm not bullshitting. God knows I wish I did know him. Look, I know this is ridiculous. I know it is. I... I can't help it. I'm sad and pathetic and completely devoted to Jack O'Neill. It's juvenile and ridiculous and I should grow up. I should forget about him and concentrate on loving you. I'm sorry. Maybe we should go." 

Brad put on his coat and began walking up the steps to the arena exit and Daniel slowly followed, still torn about going, just in case the announcer was able to update the crowd on Jack's condition. 

They walked along the mezzanine in silence, both men's hands in their pockets. Neither of them spoke until they were back in their hotel room, where Brad threw his coat onto the bed and went straight for the mini-bar. Daniel sat on the armchair, his head bowed. 

Brad chugged on the beer he'd taken from the fridge and sat on the edge of the bed. 

"You wanna tell me what this is all about? Cause I'll tell ya somethin' for nothin', I'm nobody's also-ran. You got that?" 

Daniel sat in silence. 

Brad walked over and lifted his chin, softly. "Talk to me, sugar. I love you, but I'm not wasting my time and my energy on someone who won't love me back." 

The older man shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. I didn't know it was going to have that effect on me, I really didn't. I wish I could help it... I think, but I can't. Like I said, I know it's stupid and I know it's pointless, but..." he looked at Brad with sadness and confusion. "I don't think I've ever felt like this about anyone before. Maybe... maybe we should call it quits, at least for a while. I can't concentrate right now; I can't give you what you want or what you deserve. It's not fair." 

Brad sighed. "No, it's not." He knelt between his lover's open legs. "God, Danny. I feel more for you than I ever have for anyone, but I can't compete with a fantasy. You have to do what you have to do, and when you're done and you've decided how it's gonna go, you never know, I might still be waiting." 

"I'm so sorry, Brad. I'm really fucked up. You'd be better off without me anyway. I need some space to get my head straight." 

"I'll pack my stuff and head back to L.A. I'll see you at school, hmm?" 

Daniel nodded. "Come down and say goodbye before you go, yeah?" 

Brad nodded his ascent and Daniel left him to pack alone. He went down to the bar and ordered a beer, then took out his cell phone and began to dial. 

"Pete? Hey, long time no speak. It's Danny Jackson. Yeah, I know, it has been a while, eh? Listen, maybe we can meet later to catch up on what's been going on, but right now I need some information. You've just had a hockey player admitted with a badly broken leg. Can you find out how he is and let me know? His name is Jack O'Neill." 

* 

Brad sat down on the bed for a few minutes after finishing his packing. 'One dumb way to lose a boyfriend,' he thought bitterly. 'I'm trying to compete with something I have no hope of beating. It would have been easier if it were someone real, even a woman. I could cope with that, but this?' 

"Sad bastard," he murmured to the empty room, and it wasn't entirely clear in his mind who he meant. 

Daniel was on his second beer by the time Brad came down to the bar, carrying his holdall. A wave of guilt and shame rolled over Daniel as he looked as his crestfallen ex-lover. He'd never meant it to go down this way; never realised how hard he'd fall as soon as he saw O'Neill again. The whole scenario was utterly ridiculous, he was behaving like a stalker for God's sake, but until he at least knew that Jack was recovering, he could barely think of anything else. He could hardly blame Brad for walking away. 

"Hey," he said, softly. 

"Hey," Brad replied, unable to look him in the eye. 

"I'm sor..." 

Brad stopped him with a raised hand. "Enough 'sorries', Danny. Enough. Work your way through whatever this is; just don't forget how much I care about you. This worries me, y'know. To see you this obsessed, it's... it's weird man, I don't know how to handle it, other than shake you up and I don't think even that would work. Just... just be careful, sugar. Okay?" 

Daniel nodded and pulled him in for a hug. Tears pricked at both their eyes and Daniel wanted to kiss him goodbye, but didn't dare in a public place. He settled for squeezing the very life out of him, then sniffing. "See you back at school, yeah?" 

Brad nodded. "Sure. See you back at school." He picked up his holdall and turned away, walking slowly out of the bar and into the hotel lobby. 

Daniel watched him go, not knowing if he was doing the right thing, only knowing that it was the only thing. His cell phone rang shrilly, interrupting his train of thought. 

"Hello? Oh! Hi Pete. What's the news?" 

Pete told him that Jack had been admitted, and was currently having surgery to reset the broken bones. It was a reasonably straightforward operation and although Pete couldn't say exactly what was happening, he tried to reassure Daniel that Jack would be fine. 

"Is there any chance of me getting to see him?" 

"Are you a friend?" 

"Kind of," Daniel lied. 

"Well, I'd give it at least until tomorrow. Let him stabilise and get comfortable after the operation. I expect he'll have a private room; the team insurance is paying the bills and they usually have us pulling out all the stops. How come you know a hockey star, Danny?" 

"It's a long story." 

"Oookay. Listen, are you free for dinner? I haven't seen you in months. You feel like coming over to my place, about 7:30?" 

"Sounds great. Thanks Pete." 

"No problem. See you later." 

Daniel clicked off his cell and let out a long breath. He'd have to work out some kind of story before the evening, and tomorrow... tomorrow he'd go see Jack. 

* 

Lori O'Neill sauntered into the hospital, heavily made up, with her blonde hair immaculately styled in a French plait. Her spiked heels clicked across the tile floor and she sashayed up to the nurse's station in a cloud of Chanel. 

"My name is Lori O'Neill," she announced. "You have my husband here. Jack O'Neill, the Pittsburgh Penguins player? I'd like to see him, please." 

The nurse looked up from her report and glanced up and down at Mrs. O'Neill, with the phrase 'mutton dressed as lamb' running through her mind. She smiled. "Just one moment, Mrs. O'Neill. I'll find out if he's out of surgery yet." 

The nurse made a brief telephone call, discovering that Jack was indeed out of surgery and settled in his room. She was surprised that Mr. O'Neill's wife had left it so long to come down and see him, and that she didn't seem overly concerned. The nurse had heard about Jack coming in and it sounded like he'd been pretty badly hurt. She mentally berated herself for being judgemental. It must have taken some time to put that face on. 

"Room 1703, down the hall and to the right." 

"Thank you," Lori replied haughtily and clicked down the hallway to Jack's room. 

She swept in and sat down, frowning at Jack's leg, which was stuck out in front of him surrounded by metal rings and pins. 

"Will you play again?" she asked. 

Jack smiled, humourlessly. "Why, hello dear. I'm not too bad, all things considered. Thank you so much for asking. The morphine shots the Doc keeps giving me are making the world look nice and rosy. Which is why I didn't throw up when you came in. How are you, Lori?" 

"Hmmph. I see he didn't break your sarcastic sense of humour. So. What have you done? How much will it cost? I hope the team insurance is paying for all this." 

"Jesus H. You never cease to amaze me. I have a busted leg, if the fucking metal screws sticking out of it didn't throw you a clue. That sonovabitch, bastard, fucking Polack, Pankowski. He was after me the whole damned series. He must be yuckin' it up big style to know he ended my fucking career. Asswipe. The chances are I won't ever play again, but don't panic, I have good insurance and my pension is up to date. You won't miss so much as a manicure, sweetiepie." 

"Glad to hear it. I have to have some compensations for being married to you," Lori spat. 

Jack's faade crumpled and he rested his head back onto the pillow, closing his eyes. 

"Christ, Lori," he whispered. "Has it really been that bad?" 

"Well, you were the one who said it, Jack. I only married you because you were the first NHL player to ask me. It hasn't exactly been a stellar ride for either of us, has it? I sometimes wonder if you only asked me because of all the rumours going around that you were a fag." 

Jack's eyes snapped open and his jaw dropped in shock. "Is that what you think? Dammit Lori, if you really think that, I guess you never knew me at all." 

Lori smiled, coldly. "Let's call a spade a spade, Jack. Knowing you wasn't part of the brief. Come to think of it, loving you wasn't part of the brief either." 

"God, you're a bitch. You never were much more than a puck bunny. Why don't you just get out? Leave me alone." 

She rose from the chair and slipped her fur stole around her shoulders. "Oh, I will. I've done my duty as the loving wife. I'll come see you tomorrow and we can trade insults all over again. Bye, Jack." 

The door closed gently behind her and Jack rested his head back on the pillow again with silent tears trickling down the side of his face as he listened to her clicking up the corridor. He angrily wiped them away with his forearm and reached for the phone. He could hardly see the numbers as he made the call to his manager; the tears still pooled behind his eyelids, making his vision blurred. Someday soon he'd be rid of that bitch once and for all. 

So, they all thought he was a fag did they? He thought back to the young guy in the crowd and how he'd made him feel. Maybe they were right. And maybe he just didn't give a shit anymore. 

"Jeff? Jack O'Neill. I'm at the hospital. What do you mean no-one told you? Weren't you watching the damn game? Fuckin' Jesus. Is there no-one in my life who gives a shit? Get your ass down here. I want to protect my money, what there is of it, and get rid of that fucking leech that calls herself my wife." 

* 

Daniel watched the TV in the room he'd shared with Brad, trying to catch the end of the game. Thank God for ESPN. Jack's injury had moved the Pens up into a higher gear and not only did they not lose their goal advantage, they scored twice more before the end of the game. Daniel smiled. That might take the sting out of things a little for Jack. 

Knowing that Jack was fine other than a broken leg was a huge relief. Realising that he had fucked up a perfectly good relationship for the sake of a teen crush was a huge disappointment, but that said, he knew that he could kick his own ass from here to Cincinnati and it would make no difference. Something had passed between them at the rink. Something. And Daniel couldn't rest until he'd at least followed it up. He'd been convinced up to now that Jack was straight, but that look had his gaydar throbbing, let alone twitching. He could feel his balls tingling just thinking about it, and what he'd like to do to Jack if he was given half a chance. He massaged them and his burgeoning hard on, preparing to drift away into fantasy and take care of business before going off to Pete's for dinner. 

* 

Jeff Cohen arrived at the hospital clutching his briefcase and slightly out of breath. Every year he took out a gym membership, and he hadn't once taken advantage of it. Still, if you were going to have a heart attack, this would be the place to have one. He'd been nicely settled in his bed when Jack had called his cell phone. Of course he hadn't been watching the goddamn game. He'd been balls deep inside an eighteen year old girl, Sandy. The latest in a long line of young lovelies to share Jeff's downtown love nest. They loved his money, his power and his Mercedes 300. He loved their youth, their vitality and their tight little pussies. 

He'd offered to share with Jack more than once, but although he knew that Jack and Lori had a less than perfect marriage, Jack never took him up on it. Jeff found it a little suspicious, but didn't dare open his mouth. Jack was his only high profile client, even though he was on the lower rungs of the NHL ladder and coming to the end of his career. Jeff figured that discretion was the better part of keeping his bank balance healthy. 

He knocked on Jack's door. 

"Yeah, what?" came the grumpy reply. 

Jeff poked his head tentatively round the door and smiled. "I take it Lori's already been in?" 

"Hmmph. Ya think?" 

"Okay. What do you want from me?" Jeff asked, sitting down beside the bed. 

"I don't want anything from you, Jeff. I want a divorce from her. Yesterday. With as small a settlement as I can get away with. Can you do that?" 

"Well, now, Jack...are you sure you want to do this? It could prove very expensive." 

"Yes, I'm fucking sure. I don't want that bitch's French fucking manicure on my money, my stuff, my dog, my car, my pension... are you getting the picture, Jeff?" 

"Getting the picture, Jack." 

"I want you to schedule a meeting with Zack for this evening. I don't care what he's doing, I've earned the pair of you enough fucking money in my time and now it's my turn. I want a pre-emptive strike before she gets the idea that I'm planning anything. I want her and her fucking fur coats, and her inch thick make-up and... just get her out of my fucking life, Jeff." 

Jeff sighed and nodded. "I'll speak to Zack and see what I can do." 

Jack relaxed. "Thanks Jeff. Now, if you don't mind, I'm tired. I think I should try and get some sleep." 

"Sure. Rest up, buddy." He picked up his briefcase and prepared to leave. 

"Jeff?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Which one was it this time?" 

Jeff chuckled. "Sandy." 

Jack smiled. "I hope she was a good fuck, bubbeleh. I was out there breakin' my leg for you." 

"She was. See you tomorrow, Jack," Jeff grinned and closed the door quietly behind him. 

Jack lay back and closed his eyes, memories of the young man at the rink running through his mind, as he drifted into sleep with a small smile on his face. 

The nap didn't last long and Jack was just about to kiss the beautiful young man with the kind blue eyes, when the door opened and wrenched him out of his dream. 

"Mr. O'Neill! Time for you to get up and about." 

Jack jerked awake and instinctively covered his groin. "Wha..?" 

"Hi. I'm Mike, your physical therapist. We need to get you moving and do some therapy. Don't want you keeling over with a thrombosis, now do we?" 

There was something about the young man's jaunty manner in the face of Jack's pain, that made him bristle immediately. He could see a difficult relationship looming. 

'Fuck! Not another one,' he thought. 

"Mike. Howya doin'?" 

"Oh I'm fine, thanks. And you'll be feeling better once we get you up on these crutches. Have you used crutches before?" 

Jack shook his head. 

"They're not too bad. It'll take a short while to get into the rhythm, but once you do, piece of cake for a strong, fit guy like yourself. C'mon, swing your legs over the side of the bed and let's see if we can't get some weight bearing on that leg." 

Jack sighed and did as he was told. It was something he was used to. The external fixator was a royal pain and took some getting used to, not to mention being heavy and looking like some alien device. Still, Jack figured it would be no heavier than a cast and at least there wouldn't be the irritating question of itches beneath the plaster. 

The few minutes of PT and the short walk up the corridor tired Jack more than he'd expected, and he had the world's worst headache. All in all though, Mike had been pleased with him, and he'd been right, the crutches weren't too bad. Jack began to feel a little better, especially when he was told he'd be out of hospital in a couple of days. 

That piece of information was a double edged sword, however. Coming out of hospital meant going home, which was fine, he missed Oscar already, but... what to do about Lori? He couldn't bear the thought of walking into his home and her still being there, but Zack would need time to sort out the paperwork and get her out of the house. He shifted awkwardly in bed and turned on the TV. Fifty seven channels and nothing on. He sighed and picked up the phone again. 

* 

Daniel's dinner with Pete had gone well. Pete had prepared a delicious light meal of grilled halibut, julienne vegetables and potatoes Dauphinois. He always had been something of a gastronome. The wine they shared had been equally light and just the right side of sweet for Daniel's taste. It had been a long time since he'd enjoyed a meal like that; Brad's taste was more for fast food and take out and Daniel was delighted to be spoiled. 

They traded news and stories, tales of boyfriends and work, until finally Pete asked the question. 

"So, you were going to tell me, Danny. How do you know Jack O'Neill?" 

Daniel took a long slurp of wine and swallowed. 

"He was my pin-up in High School. Played for the Rangers then and my school team sometimes trained up at the Gardens. I met him a few times, but we lost touch when I went to Berkeley. I was at the game today. I saw it happen. That stupid bastard Stan Pankowski steamrollered him. I just want to stop by and show a friendly face, that's all. How long is he likely to be in hospital?" 

Pete shrugged. "If it's a straightforward fracture and there aren't any other complications, a few days. They'll get him up on his crutches and he'll be away. He's married, isn't he?" 

Daniel nodded. 

Pete grinned. "Pity. I could go for him myself. He's just my type." 

Daniel chuckled. "You always were a slut." 

"So sue me," Pete laughed. "I took my chances where I could get 'em, even if most of them were your cast-offs. You planning to seduce him?" 

The colour rose in Daniel's cheeks and he hoped that he could blame it on the wine. 

"Seduce him? Are you kidding? He's straight." 

Pete leaned across the table. "Not necessarily. You and I both know that just because a man has a wife, doesn't mean he can't take the occasional ride on the other bus, if you know what I mean?" he winked. "Besides, you must have heard the rumours." 

"What rumours?" 

"That his marriage is a sham and he's really one of us." 

Daniel almost choked on his wine. "You're kidding!" 

Pete shook his head. "Maybe it's just gossip, maybe it's not, but I'll tell you this, he married the biggest puck bunny in Pennsylvania. I don't think there's been anyone on the Pens team for the last five seasons she hasn't had. And all while she's been 'married' to Jack O'Neill." He poured himself another glass of wine. "I haven't heard anything about him having a boyfriend or cruising, anything like that. I expect the poor boy's been celibate. You're just the man to show him what he's been missing, Daniel. I seem to remember your French being outstanding," he grinned. "Just one request, sweetheart, don't give him a blow job in the hospital. We couldn't cope with the scandal."   
  


* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Wadjet


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